Johnny's in the Basement

Music for grown-ups who remember when they weren't

View from the gum tree: riffing on the Down Under decision

kookaburraI’m just finishing up writing a song.  It’s really great.  I’ve been recording it with a band and we are about to do the final mix.  A major label has already agreed to release it.  We’re all confident it will be a big hit.  I played it for a friend last night and he said, yeah that’s great, love it, but isn’t that chorus a bit like Down Under by Men at Work?  I just smiled and gave him a Vegemite sandwich.

Actually, I hit rewind and had another listen.  I was a bit reluctant to admit it at first, but my friend might be onto something.  I may have unconsciously referenced a bar or two of Down Under.  But I’m not worried.  I doubt Spicks and Specks knows about the song yet.  And Colin Hay and Ron Strykert, the writers of Down Under, seem like nice guys.  It’s not like they are going to sue me or anything, right?

Okay, so I didn’t write a song, I’m just making a point.  After a judge ruled that the writers of the song Down Under had illegally used a riff from the nursery rhyme Kookaburra in their 1982 hit single, Colin Hay, one of the writers, issued a statement that was understandably angry in tone and in which he makes some very good points about the ruling.  For instance:

The copyright of Kookaburra is owned and controlled by Larrikin Music Publishing, more specifically by a man named Norm Lurie. Larrikin Music Publishing is owned by a multi-national corporation called Music Sales. I only mention this as Mr Lurie is always banging on about how he’s the underdog, the little guy. Yet, he is part of a multi-national corporation just like EMI Music Publishing. It’s all about money, make no mistake.

Touché on the point about the copyright holder being a multinational, but that line about it being “all about money” cuts both ways, doesn’t it?  I mean, isn’t that at least in part why Hay is pissed off about the outcome of the case?  Because he might have to cough up a pile of cash to the copyright owner of Kookaburra?  And wouldn’t money be part of the issue if I did in fact release a hit single that was later deemed to be substantially similar to Down Under?  And wouldn’t that be fair enough?

I chose my words carefully above when I said I may have “unconsciously referenced” Down Under in my imaginary song.  That’s exactly what Hay says in his statement defending their use of the tune.  In fact, he acknowledges:

It is indeed true, that Greg Ham, (not a writer of the song) unconsciously referenced two bars of Kookaburra on the flute, during live shows after he joined the band in 1979, and it did end up in the Men At Work recording.

But goes on to note:

What’s interesting to me, is that Mr Lurie is making a claim to share in the copyright of a song, namely Down Under, which was created and existed for at least a year before Men At Work recorded it. I stand by my claim that the two appropriated bars of Kookaburra were always part of the Men At Work “arrangement”, of the already existing work and not the “composition”.

Now, that latter point is obviously a matter for legal interpretation, and unfortunately for Hay, the judge didn’t accept his side’s argument.   But on that first statement, the fact that the Kookaburra riff was “unconsciously referenced”,  well, that may or may not be a legitimate point, though it obviously has no legal standing in this case.  Nor did it in the case involving George Harrison’s song My Sweet Lord when the copyright owners of He’s So Fine alleged (and won) a case of infringement.  And you can see why the law mightn’t accept “unconscious referencing” as an excuse in such a case: apart from the fact that it is too easy to fake it, it doesn’t, it seems to me, materially alter whether a riff, tune, song, whatever, was actually appropriated.  ”Unconsciously referenced” strikes me as being a legal par with , “but I didn’t know the speed limit was 60.”

Still, my question is whether Colin Hay would accept “unconscious referencing” as an excuse if someone had indeed used part of one of his songs and claimed it as their own?  I doubt it.  Nor do I think that he should.

Having said that, maybe the Kookaburra riff was “unconsciously referenced” during live shows.   But that is a bit hard to reconcile with Hay’s acknowledgement of the fact that the riff then “did end up in the Men At Work recording”.  I mean, were they still unaware at the recording stage that it “referenced” Kookaburra?   I find it a bit hard to believe, and it doesn’t sound like he is saying that they were.

The most likely thing, I reckon, is that flautist Greg Ham “quoted” it as a clever and witty way of underlining and reinforcing the Australiana vibe of the song. Quoting is an expression from jazz used when a soloist “consciously references” another song, generally during an improvisation.  It is a common device and it is generally understood to be a compliment, not a rip off.   Maybe if they’d used that line of defence and offered some sort of compensation to the Kookaburra people the whole matter could’ve been settled amicably.  Dunno.  It’s all about money, I hear.

Hay’s contention — repeated in different forms by many media outlets — that “no one noticed the reference to Kookaburra”, and the two bars they used were “unrecognisable” is purest nonsense.  I was in music retail when the single and album came out and can distinctly remember people — customers and friends — commenting on the fact that a bit of Kookaburra was in the Men At Work song.  Unrecognisable?  Give me a break.

IF I sound a bit harsh on Hay and co., I’m not trying to be.  But I just don’t buy that it took the Spicks and Specks question before anyone noticed the Kookaburra riff in Down Under and I think, as the laws currently stand, that it is fair enough that Men At Work compensate a valid copyright holder for their use of copyrighted material.

Of course, this particular case occurs in the middle of a world-wide panic amongst music labels over the matter of illegal downloading, and I wonder if the times just did not suit Hay and his co-defenders?

Now, there might be something of a witch-hunt mentality surrounding illegal downloads (though I don’t think many professional musicians think so), and there is certainly a good argument that current copyright laws are badly drawn, have become draconian and exploitative and are inhibiting creative expression, the complete opposite of what they originally designed to do, but it seems to me that even if all that were not the case, there is still a pretty good argument for compensation being paid to the Kookaburra copyright owner.

But that compensation should be fair.  I saw an article in the aftermath of the court case where Norm Lurie suggested he was seeking 40-60% of the royalties from Down Under and that strikes me as insane, even as a bargaining position.  Less than one percent would be reasonable for “his” contribution to the track.

So I feel a degree of sympathy for Colin Hay.  In part this is because I think he’s great musician — I’ve seen his solo shows a bunch of times and his first solo album, in particular, is brilliant — and in part because I think it really would be an injustice if he was forced to cough up 40-60% of the royalties from Down Under.  But in an age where musicians, quite legitimately, worry about their work being stolen in the form of illegal downloads and other sorts of unauthorised transfers, and where major labels have made a point of suing individuals over such infringements, you can hardly expect musicians themselves to be exempt from having their use of copyrighted material questioned.

Steel yourself

CD Review
Corrina Steel
A Fling with the King
(Snakedrive thru MGM)

CorrinaSteel A reader suggested late last year that I have a listen to this album and that’s what I’ve been doing for the past few weeks. I like it a lot.

Reading around on what others have said about Corrina Steel, I found a lot of references to Lucinda Williams, to Steel being an “Australian Lucinda Williams”, and anyone who knows me knows that that’s a comparison that I’m going to respond well to, given that Williams is just about the brightest star in my firmament of favourites. But you know what? The comparison is bogus. Yes, they are both women, and yes they both do excellent rock inflected country music — or is it country inflected rock music? — but that doesn’t mean they are alike or even strictly comparable.   Lucinda plays country rock and is American; Corrina plays country rock and is Australian; therefore Corrina is an Australian Lucinda Williams. It’s a bit of a syllogism, isn’t it?

Steel’s music is much more blues based than Lucinda’s and you can hear it particularly in the backing vocals. Williams tend to use the close harmonies of a lot American roots music, or more specifically mountain/bluesgrass music, but on this album at least, Corrina Steel’s songs dip into the power backing that finds its home in American gospel and blues. The opening track, ‘No Praises’, is a classic case in point, and it not only gets the album off to a brilliant start it is vocal tour de force thanks in no small part to Tina Harrod’s backing singing.  Or listen to the slower, grindier number, ‘Woman’, which is pure contemporary blues.

There’s also an instrumentation difference that illustrates the laziness of the comparison with Lucinda Williams.  Again, Williams populates her bands with country-based players, so the pallete is largely drawn from lap and pedal steel (though I’d guess you’d have to say that the Buick 6 incarnation is a lot rockier).  On this album, A Fling with the King, the dominant guitar sound is straight-ahead bottleneck slide, so once again it is the blues rather than country roots that is informing the sound.  And what rip-roaring slide it is too.   To add to the joy, when the slide is put away, the guitar has that loose, sloppy Keith Richards’ feel to it, a sound that in the Stones’ case is, of course, itself inspired by American country music.  So on a track like ‘Save a Dream For Me’, you get that real ‘Tumblin’ Dice/Honky Tonk Women’ feel and hey, it works for me.  The closest you get to a Doug Pettibone country twang (Pettibone being Williams’ former guitarist and, to my mind, the pre-eminent master of the art of tasteful, controlled, tremeloed country licks) is probably ‘Scorpio Moon’ (track 9), which is another great song.

Anyway, this is probably already too close to turning into an mini-essay on why Corrina Steel is not Lucinda Williams, so what else? Well, 0ne of the most attractive aspects of the album is the pace of it, by which I mean the songs go along at nice amble, never kicking over into a genuine rock clip, but always held in check by those blues and country influences, chugging along at a nice human pace so that you can pay attention to the vocals and the lyrics.

At the end of the day, though, it is the quality of the songs that matters and these are first class.

So it’s not just that there are great vocal sounds or guitar sounds coming out your speakers, but that they are presented within well-constructed, tuneful, melodic songs.  There isn’t a bad or even a weak track on here, and at least half of them have already lodged themselves in my long term memory.  If you want to draw comparisons with Lucinda Williams here’s one: I’d rather listen to this album that West or maybe even Little Honey.  Not something I’d say lightly.

I think another reason this album won me over is because of the cover.  We’ve talked a fair bit here and on Twitter about the notion of ‘ambition’ amongst Australian independent artists (most recently the Dan Sultan review) and I gotta say this is an album cover that says I want to sell albums.  Good for her and I hope she does.  I guess country-blues rock is always going to be a niche market, but it is a big niche and there are units to be shifted and I have to say I wonder why Corrina Steel is less commercially successful than, say, Kasey Chambers.  Much prefer this album.

Anyway, I’m off to the shop to buy Steel’s other two albums.  If they are half as good as this, I’ll be happy.

Literally

If you haven’t watched these “literal” takes on well-known songs, it is worth the effort.  I think my favourite remains “Total Eclipse of the Heart“, but this Michael Jackson one is pretty good too.

ELSEWHERE: Pretty great quote from AC/DC lead singer, Brian Johnson, about the Bono/Geldoff approach to conspicuous charity works (via ShaunC):

“I do it myself, I don’t tell everybody I’m doing it,” Johnson said.

“I don’t tell everybody they should give money – they can’t afford it.

“When I was a working man I didn’t want to go to a concert for some bastard to talk down to me that I should be thinking of some kid in Africa.

“I’m sorry mate, do it yourself, spend some of your own money and get it done. It just makes me angry. I become all tyrannical.”

Reminds me of Billy Connolly’s crack about Sting poncing around the world with “that guy from the Amazon with a CD in his mouth.” (Words to that effect)

Dan Sultan

CD Review
Dan Sultan
Get Out While You Can
(Distrib MGM)

dansultancoverIs there a bigger hunk of musical, masculine talent and gorgeousness in Australian music at the moment? Has there ever been? I doubt it. Dan Sultan is a tower of appeal and ability who nonetheless — judging by the way he presents himself on his website and on album — is content to continue as an independent artist rather than try and take his music to a bigger, more lucrative mainstream audience. Nothing wrong with that, of course, if that’s how he wants to play it, but I reckon if he ever did want to reach out to that mainstream they would eat him up. That is, buy lots of his albums and spend up big on seeing him live. I’ll say a bit more about this after I talk about the album.

The album is great.  It has a self-consciously fifties feel about, not just in the style of music but in the way it is recorded. The website notes that producer Jonathan Burnside used “a myriad of vintage equipment to achieve a supremely warm and genuine sound” and that’s true. That warmth hits you from the opening track, “Goddess Love”, which has a distinctly 50s matinee idol feel to it that you could easily imagine showing up on Bobby Darin or Cliff Richard album, though our Dan brings a much more contemporary, ballsy sexuality to the track than either of those guys could muster.  The label “black Elvis” has often been attached to him and you can see why.

The next few songs continue in a similar vein, though become a bit rockier, or rockabillier, as they go along.  ”Dingo”, in particular, does a nice job of marrying of ballad and rockabilly sounds and vocally rather unashamedly, I think, riffs off Elvis.  And why not?  I also love the why he ties these essentially American music forms to a distinctive Australian sensibility, by which I basically mean that the lyrics are about Australian places, sights and sounds and events.  Fortunately, he does this without it ever becoming corny or jingoistic or token.  It’s just who he is, and it doesn’t stop him singing about Cadiallacs and Mustangs if the need arises.

Anyway, as good as it has been to that point, the album kicks up a notch with what I think are the three best tracks on the album, “Old Fitzroy”, the title track ‘Get Out While You Can”, and then “Walk Through My Dream”.  ”Old Fitzroy” is a beautiful ballad with an affecting lyric set over a decidedly dirtier guitar sound (less of the rockabilly twang) and you begin to get an idea of the latent power in Sultan’s voice.  I love this track and the way it shimmers beautifully, as if suspended in midair, when the guitar hits that big tremoloed chord about halfway through.  Killer.  Ella Hooper’s background vocals are a perfect complement and lift the song to another level.

“Get Out While You Can” is another great ballad, this one kicking off with a nice progression on acoustic guitar and the arrangement remains sparse throughout, with the support vocals again being used to good effect.  The touch here is so delicate and measured that you can’t help but admire the thought and control that went into it.

“Walk Through My Dream” is basically a ballad too, though it is raunched up with the inclusion of a horn section, and it works really well.  I particularly love how the vocals sound on this one.  This track has hit single written all over it, if you ask me, though (at the risk of offering gratuitous advice), I’d be a bit tempted to start slower, drop the middle eight, and build it up into a belting, full-bodied number that by the end really lets Sultan unleash on the vocals.

Which kind of brings to me what I wanted to mention about commerciality.

I’ve got no idea how Dan Sultan sees his career going, but as I suggested above, the guy has megastar written all over him.  I’ve had a go at least one other Australian band for not being ambitious enough, and I can’t help but get that feeling here too.  That’s not meant as criticism; it’s just meant to take note of the fact that if, by chance, he wanted to move in a slightly more commercial direction, I reckon he would have enormous success.   And there isn’t much he would have to do to get there: it’s not as if he is inhabiting some weird corner of indie heaven that he’d have to break out of.   The album is pretty commercial to begin with.  It’d just be a matter of tweaking.  The songs are there; the band is there; the voice is there; and certainly the visuals are there.

He’s the full package too, the triple threat, in that he has already ventured into movies.  It was great seeing him in Bran Nue Dae, even if he was horribly under-utilised, but it does show that he could easily pursue other musical-movie roles to great effect, here and overseas.

Anyway, all that’s up to him.  Whichever way he goes, I wish him well.  In the meantime, what we have here is an incredibly talented guy with a fantastic new album.  Buy it now so just in case he hits the big, big time you can get brownie points for saying I-knew-about-him-when.

Tom Waits and waits and waits

CD Review
Tom Waits
Glitter and Doom Live
(thru Shock Records)

tomwaitsglitterThis is a catch-up review of an album released late last year.

Listening to the new live Tom Waits album I really became confused about how seriously to take it.  Or rather him.  I genuinely wondered whether I should just join the happy throng of critical acclaim and the long line of those who long ago decided that Waits is some sort of untouchable genius, or whether what we had here was a case of the Emperor’s new clothes.  I mean, listen to that voice!  He’s taking the piss, right?

None of which means I don’t like Tom Waits: far from it.  During the late 70s and early 80s I probably listened to as much of his stuff as I did another other single artist, proselytized on his behalf, saw him in concert, and was all round mesmerised by his musical hobo shtick, his breathtakingly gorgeous songs, and yes, his voice.  God, I am even one of the few people who still considers One From the Heart (on which Waits duets with Crystal Gayle) one of the great movie soundtracks and have foisted it upon friends with a lecture about it being one of the most under-appreciated albums of all time.  So don’t give me any grief about the depth of my Waits’ bone fides.

But it seems to me that an artist has to change and the way that Waits chose to do that was to go deeper inside the character and personna that he created for himself — the down-on-his luck gutter dweller with a million stories to tell — but that just maybe, instead of that being the route to artistic growth it is has turned into a musical cul-de-sac from which he can’t escape.

Now, this interpretation flies in the face of how Waits himself sees his development, so I don’t want to say I know better than him; but I do think I can make a case.  I’m really talking about the transition between his albums from the 70s to the out-of-box 1983 album, Swordfishtrombones and those that followed.  It is around this time that Waits came under the overt influence of various musical pioneers, most substantially, Captain Beefheart and Harry Partch.  In his recent biography of Waits, Barney Hoskins notes that Waits had become disillusioned with the direction he was going:

Like most uncompromising sing-songwriters of the decade just past — Dylan, Young, Bowie and others — Waits decided it was time to reinvent himself, to shake off everything he’d stood for.  It was time for a break, a bloodless coup that would dispense with all the safety nets: Herb Cohen, Bones Howe, Chuck E. Weiss, and the old Tropicana/Troubadour crew, maybe even Electra-Asylum Records.  The baby might get thrown out with the bathwater, but it was that or rest on what scant laurels he could claim…

Thinking back to his first albums, he realized he’d lived his life in reverse, starting out as a cautious old man before entering a radical middle age.  By the time he was physically old, he figured, he might regain the innocence and intuitiveness of childhood.  ”I hatched out of this egg I was living in,” he said, lokking back on this time.  ”I’d nailed one foot to the floor and kept going in circles, making the same record.”

Those who love Waits’ seventies albums as much as I do will take issue with this statement, yet the fact remains that up to this point Waits had borrowed a bunch of styles and mannerisms…and jumbled together his voice and style.  However great the songs were, to his ears they were derivative, unoriginal….

The new Waits [sic] music, which began taking shape in 1982, was fashioned out of diverse and disparate ingredients.  Written substantially in a feverish two-week spurt on a second visit to Ireland, the tracks that came to make up Swordfishtrombones followed a rough narrative trajectory.

All of this (and in fact, that entire chapter of the book) strikes me as incredibly revealing.  While it is easy to see and acknowledge that he moved in another direction, that the influences mentioned above did cause him to rethink the sort of music he was making, and that the albums produced do, in fact, break new and interesting ground, it just seems so obvious that, for all their newness and originality, that this new direction has become as much of a endless loop as the one he was trying to escape.  Isn’t the foot still nailed to the floor, even if it is a different room?  Far from “throwing the baby out with the bathwater”, as suggested above, hadn’t he just lifted the baby into a new bath, albeit one with a lot of extra plumbing?

And in fact, when you look at the lyrics it isn’t even so clear that he moved on that much.  Lyrically, Waits is still lost in the low-end bohemia that characterised his earlier work, the world of down-and-out bums and circus freaks and the rest of the cast.

Anyway…

This album is a beautifully produced collection of later-era Waits songs as well as an entire “bonus compendium entitled Tom Tales, which is a selection of the comic bromides, strange musings and unusual facts that Tom traditionally shares with his audience during the piano set.”

So is the Emperor naked?  Do I want to call bullshit on the whole production?  Sort of, but a few things stop me.  First up, the songs are seriously good.  As in, well-crafted, meaningful, clever and even catchy.  There is nothing bullshitty about them.  But they are also relentless.  They pound away at you and make demands that I don’t think they really need to make.  The first three songs blast out and it is like being caught in a car accident.  As another reviewer noted, one who was much more in love with the album than I am:

The music is ragged as Hell, puncturing to the ears and synapses, and is definitely not for the weak kneed. Waits rips the melodies to shreds, upends the percussion and generally slurs, yelps and howls like William S. Burroughs heading into a bad night of the DTs

Some people are into that, and this reviewer goes on to note that, “… given all of that, the music is inexplicably beautiful, uplifting and life affirming as inside of every song, like an old fakir lying on a bed of nails, Waits gathers flowers from the garbage to create silk purses from sow’s ears.”

That’s the bit I’m not so sure I agree with any more.  Or rather, I agree that the songs are very often special, but I think I’m really over the “slurs, yelps, and howls” and kinda just wish he would sing.  This is a feeling that is utterly reinforced when we get past those first three tracks and get to track four, the sublime, ‘Fannin Street’.  I can’t help but wish that he reigned himself in a bit more often.

So look, I know that for many Waits can do no wrong and such people are welcome to ignore all my misgivings.  For the rest of you, however, those who might be considering getting this album as maybe a way of catching up with an artist you haven’t thought about for a while, then I reckon you should know what you are getting into.

As I say, beautifully produced, some stunning songs, and the band is stupendous.  I just don’t think I want to listen to it.

iRipOff

iClayWith the new Apple iThingy (pictured) apparently being released this week, and with that tablet device being held out as perhaps as a way — if not the way — we are all meant to read books, magazines and newspapers in the future, it is worth considering what that might mean for our hip pockets if Apple happens to lock up the market in key titles.

The precedents hardly inspire confidence, as this interesting article by Michael Pascoe points.  He notes that Apple’s current profitability is in part based on Australian customers paying a premium price for music downloads:

[T]he world’s biggest digital music shop…routinely charges Australians 40 per cent and more than it does Americans. And that’s after allowing for the addition of the 10 per cent GST to the American prices.

Even for something as universal as the Hope For Haiti Now fund raiser album, Apple charges Americans just US$7.99. With the current dip in our exchange rate to about 90.5 US cents, that’s $8.83 in local coin. Adding GST would make it $9.71, but Apple slogs Australians $13.99 for the thing – a 44 per cent mark-up on the US price. Or 44 per cent rip off, depending on your point of view.

For eight out of the top 10 on the iTunes US singles chart yesterday, Apple was charging Americans US$1.29 a download – the equivalent of A$1.57 after adding GST. Meanwhile the Australian iTunes site was charging $2.19 per download for most of its top 10 singles. Tasty.

The rip-off isn’t as bad for many album prices, getting down as low as 17 per cent for a representative example that’s on the Top 10 there, Melody Gardot’s My One and Only Thrill. It downloads for US$11.99 on the American site, the equivalent of $14.58 with GST. On Australian iTunes, it’s $16.99.

He notes that the main reason for the excessive prices charged here is that Apple lacks the competition in Australia that it faces in the United States, and I guess that isn’t going to change any time soon.

But hey, Apple are just so cool, aren’t they?

The new album by the Eels

CD Review
The Eels
End Times
(thru Shock Records)

eelscover
Is there anything more snobby/elitist than music?  I swear to god that it’s worse than politics sometimes in its ability to generate the sort of pointless arguments over which people are just about willing to come to blows.  Spend any time talking to people about music, reading music magazines, blogs, Twitter, whatever, and you are likely to be subjected to a barrage of overt and covert signals as to the suitability or otherwise of your taste in this allegedly egalitarian art form.  Egalitarian my arse.   The practice and consumption of music is as riddled with rules, spoken and unspoken, about what is acceptable and what isn’t — according to whomever happens to be speaking — as to rival a cultural historian talking about the nuances of a Japanese tea ceremony.  And it tends to be, the more obscure a person’s musical predelications, the more precious they are about what is in and what is out.  Obscurity is its own reward; it signals secret, insider knowledge that sets the posesser apart, and, to their mind, puts them on a rarefied level of wonderfulness.

Sure, we all have our likes and dislikes and there isn’t much wrong with expressing those views.  In fact, sometimes you can’t help it in that your body simply has a visceral reaction against a given song, piece of music, singer or musician.  I could list fifty music-related things — from Rufus fucking Wainwright to gamelan — that, if I was forced to choose between listening to them and cutting my dick off with a spoon I would be reaching for the nearest spoon.

But that sort of simple like or dislike is not what I’m talking about.  I’m talking about the sort of judgemental bullshit that takes those sorts of basic differences in tastes and raises them to a point of personal honour.   What’s that you say?  You like that guy?  You are moved by the beauty of that form of music?  They’re really good?  Seriously, I’m glad for you. Can we just leave it at that?  I bet we can’t.

Rock n’ roll was meant to cut through all that sort of nonsense, give the music back to the people, man, but of course it didn’t.  Or maybe it did for one brief shining moment before I was born, and then the people spent the next fifty years pontificating about what was acceptable and what wasn’t, finding ever-more ingenious ways to turn a preference for certain types of sounds into yet another way of creating us-versus-them barriers.

The advent of rock n’ roll simply opened up an entire new realm of demarcation disputes, everything from classical versus rock, of course, to the Stones versus the Beatles, Clapton versus Hendrix, punk versus progressive right through to country versus everything else.  I mean, just listen to the shit people say about country music!  In fact, the Beatles/Stones “argument” started up all over again when the remastered Beatles’ albums were released last year and the web and wherever else filled up with people who not only didn’t like the Beatles (bully for them) but who were willing to attest that the Fab Four weren’t really that talented or ground breaking anyway, and who suggested that you would have to be some sort of loser to think that they were.  In other words, instead of being content to acknowledge the hardly surprising fact that not everyone liked their music, the discussion quickly degenerated into a pissing competition of epic proportions on which people staked — at various levels of seriousness — their so-called integrity.

Of course, it’s hardly surprising. Rock music was in large part a negative phenomenon in that it defined itself against things as much as for them.  It was often anti-establishment, anti-control, anti-corporate, anti-professional, anti-training, anti-ageing, so of course there was going to be some spleen in there.  But that sort of simple, worthwhile rebelliousness is, again, not what I’m talking about.  I’m talking about the point where the rebelliousness degenerates into just another value judgement based on nothing more than personal preference and generates the sort of invective you don’t usually find outside of a convention of grammar nazis.

I said “egalitarian my arse” above, but in one sense the phenomenon is egalitarian in that the biggest deadshit in the world feels completely free to look down his or her nose at you if you dare not to replicate their particular musical enthusiasms.

I’m a bit over it.  Hope I die before I get cool.

Maybe I’m being naive.  Maybe once you do fall in love with X type of music, or Y’s music, or the sound of instrument Z, you really are making a marriage-like commitment to it and will therefore take personally any deviation from your level of commitment to X, Y or Z.  Maybe me saying “gamelan leaves me cold” is the equivalent of me telling you that your wife is a truckstop whore, but I seriously hope that isn’t the case.  (All evidence to the contrary.)  Maybe there really is no way around the fact that musical preference is as deep-seated as political persuasion or class divisions (which it is often a subspecies of) or any of the other social markers that people use to indicate their membership of, or alienation from, each other.  Sydney is better than Melbourne!  AFL sucks; Rugby rules!  The Pacific is a better ocean than the Atlantic!  You know the sort of thing.

Anyway, about this new Eels album.  If you flick around the web you’ll find a whole bunch of reviews that will give you chapter and verse on the history of the Eels and an endless stream of rigid opinion that sets this new one in the context of their overall history, and you will be instructed, variously, how this album fails or succeeds in living up to their well-established reputation.  You will find articles that score them on the cool scale and that judge their past outings accordingly.  And you will find people who say the complete opposite.

I didn’t know any of their history and so listened to this new album cold.  I really liked it.

Crazy Heart

If you saw the Golden Globes the other day, you might’ve noticed that Jeff Bridges won the best-actor gong for his role in the music movie Crazy Heart.  Quite looking forward to seeing it:

Crazy Heart is a 2009 American musical-drama film, written and directed by Scott Cooper and based on the 1987 novel of the same name by Thomas Cobb.Jeff Bridges plays Bad Blake, a down-and-out country music singer/songwriter who tries to turn his life around after beginning a relationship with a young journalist named Jean, portrayed by Maggie Gyllenhaal. Supporting roles are played by Colin FarrellRobert DuvallBeth Grant and Sarah Jane Morris. Bridges, Farrell, and Duvall, also sing in the film. The film’s main character is based on a combination of Waylon JenningsKris Kristofferson and Merle Haggard. Cooper initially wanted to do a biopic on Haggard but found the rights to his life story were too difficult to obtain. The film has been described by Leonard Maltin as “half Big Lebowski, half Urban Cowboy meets The Wrestler”.

Naturally, there is a soundtrack to go with it and it mixes classic country with tracks by the actors themselves, including a couple by Bridges on which (on my brief listenings) he does a pretty good job.  There’s also a couple of songs written specifically for the film.  In fact, the title track, written by Ryan Bingham, picked up the Globe for best original song.  The fact that the show’s musical director was T-Bone Burnett almost guaranteed that there’d be a touch of class about the soundtrack.

Anyway, the whole point of this is to tell you that you can stream the entire album at this site.  Go have a listen.

PS: Worth noting that there is a “deluxe” 23-song version of the soundtrack available too, but that this isn’t the one that is streamed at that link. And here’s the movie trailer.

Last song at the Tote

Andrew Crook covered the story about the closing of the Tote earlier this week on Crikey, and talked about the possibility of it continuing under new management/owenership.  We’ll keep an eye on that, but in the meantime I thought I’d pop up a link to this recording of the final song played at the venerable venue’s last gig.

You can listen to it here.

To hear the full show, go to the 3RRR website.

Gone,

A couple of deaths to catch up with.

Kate_McGarrigleCanadian folk singer Kate McGarrigle died on Monday.  She has been fighting cancer since 2006.  I notice a lot of the obits are referring to her as, first and foremost, the “mother of Rufus and Martha Wainwright”, which is fair enough, I guess, given that their careers have eclipsed hers in the past few years, but I still think of her from well before that when she was something of a star in folk circles as part of the duo with her sister Anna.  Kate and Anna McGarrigle, their first album, was a must-have item in the late seventies, and I remember from back in my record retailing days ordering it for stock week after week, a steady if unspectacular seller, one those albums that formed the backbone of  a decent record shop’s back-catalogue.  It was a good album too, not least for the track ‘Heart Like a Wheel’ which was covered successfully by Linda Ronstadt.  And what a line-up of musicians it had on it too: Steve Gadd, Bobby Keys and Lowell George amongst them.

Most recently she seems to have been a regular at various joint performances with her kids, not least of which was her and Anna’s involvement in the Leonard Cohen tribute.  I’ve mentioned before their ethereal vocal harmonies on Cohen’s song ‘Winter Lady’.  You could do worse than that being the last thing you heard in this life.

vicchesnuttThe other death to mention is that of American singer/songwriter, Vic Chesnutt.  Chesnutt took his own life late last year and, like a lot of people, I guess I was shocked but not surprised.  Anyone who knows his work knows that death has haunted him all his life and that he has attempted suicide in the past.  There was something inevitable about his passing, a fact that doesn’t diminish the loss at all.  I first took notice of his music in about 2003 when I saw a TV show in America when I lived there.  The show was hosted by David Byrne and Chesnutt performed a bunch of songs, mainly from his album The Salesman and Bernadette, with the band Lambchop, and it still rates as one of the most pleasant musical surprises of my life.  Chesnutt sat there in his wheelchair (the result of car accident when he was a teenager) and strummed out (with his crippled right hand) these amazing, funny, folky tunes with a wry-but-innocent look on his face, backed by the incredible strangeness of Lambchop, and I was just mesmerised.  Bernadette would easily make my top ten albums list of all time, and a couple of his songs, for instance, ‘Ignorant People’, rank amongst my favourites.  I’ve given a bit of a rundown on his albums before.  Here’s an interview he did in 2008.  What a shame he couldn’t hang on.